


A Much-Anticipated Meeting

by OGMadster



Series: A Warrior of Light and his Loves: Kisstober 2020 Collection [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: First Meetings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 08:01:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28348074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OGMadster/pseuds/OGMadster
Summary: Aymeric is about to meet the Warrior of Light and, admittedly, has the jitters. Things unfold rapidly, not least the Lord Commander's developing crush...---With thanks to twitter user kowaretaP for the Kisstober prompts.Further info in end notes.
Relationships: Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)/Aymeric de Borel
Series: A Warrior of Light and his Loves: Kisstober 2020 Collection [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2076024
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	A Much-Anticipated Meeting

Aymeric fussed with the seam of his glove, tweaking it back into place. He was used to a certain level of nerves before meeting with a new political acquaintance, let alone one he needed to win over this badly. Nerves he was practiced at concealing, but excitement he was not. 

Ser Lucia shifted at his elbow and he knew she had noticed. She noticed everything and, frankly, he had long ago stopped attempting to prevent it. The only person who could read him more thoroughly at a glance was Estinien, but he, Fury be kind, who knew where he was? 

“Lord Commander,” Haurchefant said brightly as he stepped from the carriage. Aymeric much preferred riding, but the privacy and shelter a carriage afforded were not without merit.

“Lord Haurchefant,” Aymeric smiled. “Always a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is mine,” he all but beamed, his sincerity refreshing and as endearing as always. Aymeric had meant it when he said it to him, but the sunniness of Haurchefant’s smile made him seem curt by comparison, not that he begrudged him. “Young Master Levilleur and the Warrior of Light await you in the intercessory,” he said, punctuating his statement by rocking on his feet just slightly, his sky-blue eyes alive with what Aymeric thought he recognized as excitement of his own. “When you are prepared, I am happy to introduce you.”

“Thank you, my friend,” Aymeric said, sincerely grateful for the offer. “I see no reason to delay.” Truthfully, his anticipation was mounting and waiting would only make it rise further, make it harder to mask and master. 

“Of course,” Haurchefant gave him a little nod, the sort that was a mimic of a bow, and led the way.

Ser Lucia regarded him out of the corner of her eyes. Aymeric popped an eyebrow at her, a silent question. She pointedly looked ahead, but a little smirk touched one corner of her mouth, there and gone in a twinkling. He’d have thought she was privately laughing at him if he didn’t know that she, too, was intrigued by meeting this new Legend of Eorzea, after her own fashion.

The Fortemps man at the door let them pass and once it was locked at their backs Aymeric turned his attention to the room. Time seemed to freeze.

There before him were two Elezens in perfect opposition: one short, on the cusp of being old enough to be considered a man, his white hair back in a smart braid and his fair skin rosy from the cold of outdoors or the warm of the hearth or both. The other was tall, almost staggeringly so, with deep grey skin hedging on black, his short black hair looking glossy in the light of fire and lamps, their shadows highlighting his fine cheekbones. He was in profile, the slightest slope of his nose handsome, his smiling mouth soft.

Time slowly began to move again. They were both turning to look at them, at him and Lucia, and he had eyes only for the tall Duskwight. Their gazes connected, and his were crimson. He had never before seen someone with such vibrant red eyes, but something in their shapes put him at ease. Even the scars on his face, which on another might have been intimidating, rendered him somehow tender-seeming, approachable. It was incongruous, this collection of features that were intense individually and yet resolved into something so handsome.

He came back to himself as Haurchefant finished his introductions, “—may I present Alphinaud Levilleur, Scion of the Seventh Dawn and Commander of the Crystal Braves, and Kyler Drake, the Warrior of Light.”

Aymeric noticed the latter’s mouth quirk at the title, as though keeping down a smirk, saw the - amused? - glance he spared the Lord of Camp Dragonhead at the formality.

“It is a pleasure to meet you both,” he said, finding his voice and pleased when it did not tremble and betray him. Happy as he was to finally put faces to these names and titles, he had work to do yet.

Kyler spoke little during their meeting, allowing young Alphinaud’s diplomatic flair to shine. The Lords and Knights of Coerthas had not been mistaken when they commented on his eloquence, though they had underrepresented his passion. Aymeric prayed that he would keep it as he grew: it, like Haurchefant’s sincerity, was refreshing. There were those who would call it naive, the foolishness of youth, but Aymeric appreciated it. It showed his conviction. 

During most of their discussion Kyler’s expression had remained neutral, though his neutral seemed to always look as though he was smiling, or moments away from it. It had only changed when Aymeric mentioned what he needed - for the Scions to keep an eye on the body of Midgardsormr, Father of Dragons, keeper of the lake. He grew keen then, his attention bringing him physically forward a touch, and shortly after Aymeric noticed him jotting something down in a journal. Each page was about as wide as his palm. His curiosity burned bright at the sight of that little book, but it was quickly snuffed when there was an insistent rap at the door.

A House Fortemps man came in, all apologies, to relay the news that the new shipment bound for Revenant’s Toll had, once again, been waylaid by Heretics. Aymeric noticed that while Alphinaud looked perhaps dismayed, Kyler’s look grew keener. “When did this happen?” he asked, voice steady, seeming fuller than the soft phrases he’d said before.

“Not two bells ago,” the Fortemps knight answered.

“Then now is the time,” he said, and snapped the little journal in his hand shut. When he rose to his feet, he was more present, somehow, his figure more imposing, full of readiness and future action. The cut of a knight.

* * *

“Alphinaud! Ser Aymeric!” 

Aymeric’s attention was drawn immediately, and a selfish part of him was full glad it was: he was rewarded with the singular sight of the Warrior of Light astride a huge white-golden chocobo charging toward them out of the snow and the fog, the bird’s powerful legs churning up flakes that eddied around them. Kyler’s face was flushed dark with the effort of a hard ride and he reined his mount in only when both of them were in easy earshot, close enough for Aymeric to be able to see the cloud of his breath, of his bird’s breath, on the frigid air.

“What is it?” Alphinaud immediately asked, stepping up close.

“The heretics know of the Temple Knights’ and Crystal Braves’ movements both - they will certainly attack here.” Kyler dismounted, and now that they were standing beside one another, or near enough, Aymeric realized he might be the single tallest Elezen he’d ever met. Something about that was striking.

“So quickly. How did they find out?” Alphinaud asked, his eyes narrowing, focused in the face of bad news, to his credit.

“A defector at Whitebrim, feeding information to them. They’d already killed Durendaire men at Boulder Downs by the time I’d arrived, and they had the Snowcloak guard shifts. I’m just glad I made it to you before they did.”

“I thank you,” Aymeric said, recognizing that the sprint through the snow with grave tidings and time as your enemy was always an intense experience. “An attack was expected, but I shall ensure my men are on high alert.” He gave the adventurer a nod, hoping he was as gracious as he was attempting to be, and moved away to let him confer with his young friend.

“Ensure the knights are aware the heretics know this area thoroughly and their arrival is imminent,” he said softly to Lucia.

“At once, Lord Commander,” she answered, walking briskly away. The revelation that the heretics had come by the guards’ shifts, and from inside help, was disquieting, but he was not shaken. He was musing silently to himself on the young Commander of the Crystal Braves when the sound of steel striking steel rang out and there was a cry. By the time his attention was drawn, two heretics were unconscious in the snow and between them and Alphinaud stood not Kyler, but a woman in white, wearing red sabatons and a black mask, wielding the weapons of a pugilist. Kyler gave her a smile, sheathing his partially-drawn sword with a clack; he hadn’t managed to fully draw before she’d dispatched them.

“Yda,” he greeted her, giving her a grin that could melt ice. They clasped hands between them and half-embraced. “Perfect timing, as usual.”

Aymeric’s eyes flickered over Alphinaud, but he was not only unharmed, he was untouched. Based upon the sign of archons on this Yda’s neck and how familiar the three were with each other, he wagered that she was another Scion. Though he was glad that she had arrived and defended the young man, a small part of him whispered that he would rather have witnessed Kyler in action. Still, he got to see his smile, and he contented himself with that.

* * *

“Ser Aymeric,” Kyler began, drawing his attention. Though based on his account the battle with Shiva had been no easy thing, he was alert, his crimson eyes bright, his cheeks flushed from the cold. It was not the first time that Aymeric had found him beautiful, and he was certain it would be far from the last. He turned to meet his gaze, thoughtful, and the effect was redoubled, Aymeric’s heart practically stilling in his chest before it recovered itself, sprinting away. Kyler continued of his own accord, which Aymeric was grateful for, as he doubted he would have found his voice steady. “I wanted to thank you, for your letter.”

Aymeric blinked, surprised. It had been brief, as skilful a distillation of what he’d wished to say as he could manage, and yet he had been unsatisfied with it. “Twas nothing,” he said, and shocked himself by continuing, “I regret that I was not there to deliver its sentiments in person.” But when he stole another glance Kyler’s way he saw him smiling, a tender thing that touched his eyes, making them seem to sparkle.

“All the same,” he said, that smile growing subtly. “I appreciated it.”

“Then I am glad,” Aymeric told him, hazarding a smile in return. He could not afford to fluster, not now, when they were so close to their destination and he still had one more conversation to navigate with young Master Alphinaud. He pried his mind away from ruminating on Kyler and his features and the effect they had on him with only mild success.

When they arrived back at Camp Dragonhead, Kyler gave him a smile that had a rueful edge. “Off to smooth some ruffled feathers,” he said quietly, giving him a nod before moving up the stairs toward where Lord Haurchefant was almost certainly waiting, and likely pacing.

“Do take your time,” he told him, and Kyler looked back over his shoulder to give him a wave.

Aymeric hardly made it into the intercessory before his body rebelled; he could  _ feel _ his own blush advance and overtake his features, right to the tips of his ears. He sucked in a breath, held it a moment, and sighed it out, pressing his hands, still cold from being outside, to his hot face. The difference was so stark it bordered on ridiculous.

“He’s really gotten to you,” Lucia said, and Aymeric could hear the smirk in her voice.

“Lucia,” he responded, uncovering his eyes, though he left his fingers on his cheeks. Not only was she giving him the cut of a smirk that she only ever showed to him, she regarded him out of a sideways glance. “You’re not helping.”

Her smile flashed into a grin, if only for a moment, before she relented, returning her expression to the neutral facade she wore when anyone else was likely to see her.

Aymeric took another deep breath and went to pour himself some water. Something, anything, to help quell his obvious blush before they returned. Alphinaud, he was certain, would put him through his paces when they did.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you'd like to wallow in brain worms with me please feel free to hit me up on twitter @ScruffyChocoboi!
> 
> This is part of an ongoing and evolving collection!  
> In October, twitter user @kowaretaP posted a prompt list called Kisstober delineated as follows:  
> Days 1-9: First Kiss  
> Days 10-16: Fluffy Hours  
> Days 17-23: Tension  
> Days 24-31: Goodbye  
> along with encouragement to alter them as desired. I did some sketches for the polycule, but the brain worms took over and had me writing the scenarios too. I also added a prequel section I've been calling "First Sight, First Pangs."
> 
> This piece is one of the "First Sight, First Pangs" pieces.  
> I love perhaps nothing more than best friend/wingwoman Lucia
> 
> Aymeric's First Sight correlates with quest 2.4.3, "Coming to Terms"  
> Aymeric's First Pangs correlates with quests 2.4.8, "The Path of the Righteous" & 2.4.15, "The Road Less Traveled"


End file.
